


Trigger Happy

by RoksanaLyasin



Series: How It Burns [1]
Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Action, Difficult Decisions, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pre-Relationship, Prequel, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 17:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16999734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoksanaLyasin/pseuds/RoksanaLyasin
Summary: Without a weapons dealers anonymous, Don Kane is struggling to kick the habit. On the run, he encounters Fiona Glenanne - will she aid him or will she be the one to pull the trigger?





	Trigger Happy

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot spinoff that occurs before my related story, _How It Burns_ (coming Jan 2019).

Don Kane always prided himself for being the one to keep his cool in a room full of hotheads, the one who held everything together when a situation went to the dogs. So, as he was staring down the barrel of nine equally threatening weapons, he couldn’t work out why he was feeling agitated all of a sudden.

He thought perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he kept seeing the same piece of – what was it, parsley? Kale? – stuck between the front teeth of the primary threat.

Don pulled a charming smile over his lips, keeping his gaze steady. Sales, no matter the department, was always about forming a connection with the buyer. He didn’t really _want_ to form any kind of connection between himself and the Neanderthals sanding between him and the only exit, but, if needs must… He smoothed his hand over the front of his jacket, forcing an appearance of order even as his mind raced, calculating his best escape strategy. He’d choose fight over flight any day, and he was certainly leaning in favour of the former based on the tight confines of the container. Though he didn’t like his odds, he figured he could take at least three of the nine down before they managed to squeeze a shot off.

Aware of his Berettas at his back, he opened his hands in a friendly gesture that – he hoped – wouldn't land him in a body bag.

‘Boys, we can be reasonable,’ he said, shaking off the thick brogue from his words, sounding almost like a local. ‘Why don't we take a second to relax. We can talk this over.’

‘You're the one trying to rip us off.’ Jones, the lead Neanderthal, spat the words, his haggard face twisting angrily.

‘I’m giving you what you paid for, and what you paid was only half of the original agreed price that we decided on together, so, you only get half of the weapons,’ he said, a smile still plastered on his lips. ‘If you want the rest, you’ll need to come up with the other half of the money.’

‘Your price was too steep,’ a lackey to Jones’ left said.

Don resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Two thirds of the price covers the weapons themselves, the rest is the actual procurement of the items that you request.’ He directed their attention to the multiple military grade rifles and machine guns at his side. ‘ _These_ were not easy to find. _These_ were not easy to get my hands on without leaving any trails for the authorities, another part of my service to you that doesn't come cheap,’ he said, barely keeping the bite out of his voice, his accent thicker in his anger. He levelled his gaze on Jones. ‘So, if you’ll be so kind, how about you wire the rest of the money to the account, and then I’ll send you a friendly message with a location for the rest of the weapons.’

Jones seemed to be thinking it over until someone in the back chimed in, ‘it wouldn’t be hard to make him tell us where he’s got his stashes.’

 _Annnd there it is,_ Don thought, gritting his teeth in frustration, _of course, torture is always on the table._

‘You know, I was beginning to itch for a good torture session,’ Jones said lowering his weapon an inch, ‘reckon this little leprechaun would squeal?’

Don’s hands dropped to his sides, the last traces of his polite demeanour vanishing. ‘And here I was starting to think that we were getting past some of these deep seated issues in our relationship.’

In a flash of movement he reached beneath his jacket and pulled his Berettas, dropping in a low crouch. The first two shots hit home, felling a pair of Jones’ cronies. He dropped two more in quick succession, the thunderous shots reverberating in his chest and making his ears ring. In the confusion, he darted to the side as the group gathered their senses, sparks raining down as bullets ricocheted off the sturdy walls of the container. Jones and the cronies ducked and Don’s took the opening. He shot forward, leap frogging over Jones’ back and through the half-open container door. He heard yelling in his wake, knowing that his method of fight _and_ flight had severely pissed off his business partners, but he felt only the thrill of adrenaline rushing in his veins as he sprinted into the city of cargo containers.

He had to find a way out, and fast. The containers made for good cover from bullet fire, but every movement echoed through the narrow alleys, and the grid structure made it much easier for a group of nine – make that five – to hunt a lone runner.

He sprinted around a corner. In the distance, he could hear Jones calling out directions. He knew he had only a moment to catch his breath. He forced air into his lungs and steadied himself, tucking one of his Berettas back into its sling. He gripped the remaining weapon firmly in his right hand, reaching to loosen his tie with his left, his tailored jacket heating him like a furnace in the humid midnight air.

Don took off running again the moment he heard pounding footsteps nearing. He glanced over his shoulder as he sprinted down a long alley, so focused on the sounds of shouts and jeers behind that he didn’t hear the approach from his front.

He slammed into the figure, barely managing to stay upright as he twisted to his side. His collision partner wasn’t so fortunate, and with a harsh curse they fell backwards onto the dusty concrete. Don thought one of Jones’ men had managed to circle him, but as he turned to face the potential attacker, he found not a Neanderthal, but a woman. She easily picked herself up from the ground, flicking her hair back, her dainty frame so at odds with the weapon in her hands.

‘Do you _mind_?’ she snapped. ‘I’m trying to run away here!’

‘You’re not the only one.’

She opened her mouth to speak – or curse at him, probably – but her eyes shot wide at whatever she saw behind him and she darted left just as a shot echoed between the containers, the bullet clipping his suit jacket millimetres his shoulder. He followed as she disappeared down a gap between containers. He dared a glance over his shoulder, realising there were more footsteps behind him now, more beats in the melody of the chase. It seemed her pursuers were catching up.

Intrigued, he ran a little faster, a little harder even as his lungs burned for air. He stripped his jacket hastily, knowing that he would regret losing part of the gorgeous Armani suit but, needs must. With gritted teeth he tossed it sky high, reminding himself that it was already ruined.

Freer, lighter, he sprinted on. He held his Beretta firm, catching a glimpse of her flowing, chestnut-coloured hair as she disappeared around another corner. He was gaining and, when she was in sight, he finally say his chance. He shot forward, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her sideways. He barely managed to avoid the elbow that flew straight at his nose as he dragged her kicking and flailing into an open container. He pushed the door closed with his foot, plunging them into darkness. She fought hard against his hold, but he easily overpowered her. He spun her on her toes and pinned her against the container wall, clamping a hand over her mouth.

‘Quiet,’ he breathed, so close his lips almost brushed her nose. She stared up at him, her anger burning in her gaze, but she seemed willing enough to cooperate. He released his hold on her, stepping cautiously back to door to peer out the paper-thin gap. He watched, catching no signs of movement and hearing no footsteps, but that did little to ease him; Jones’ might be a Neanderthal, but he had a dog’s instinct. He’d probably slowed his men down to perform a thorough search.

‘We don’t have much time,’ he whispered, walking the length of the container, checking for anything usable in a fight, but it was empty. The only thing inside was a thin floor of dirt and dust, and large rust spots climbing the walls; it appeared the container hadn’t moved for decades. He pursed his lips, reaching to his back to grab his other gun, starting when it was gone. He spun on his heel, jaw nearly dropping off his face when he laid eyes on it. The stranger was turn it in her hands, examining it closely.

‘Beretta M9.’ She almost purred, an appreciative smile curving her lips, her weapon nowhere to be seen. ‘You have good taste.’

Much as he had to admit, seeing his weapon in her hands wasn’t entirely unpleasant – she clearly know how to handle it – he wasn’t keen to be without it in their situation. ‘Give it back.’

Her eyes lit with mischief. ‘What do I get in return?’

‘To live,’ he said, reaching out in a flash and snagging it from her grasp. He gave it a once over before he tucked it back into its sling, ignoring her glare for a moment before he said, ‘no one else touches my guns. No one.’

She gawked at him. ‘I’m out of ammo. Are you just going to leave me with no way to defend myself?’ She gave him such an innocent, pleading look that he felt the urge to hand one over, but he quickly shook it off when his gaze trailed over her and he caught sight of a telling bulge on the outside of her calf.

‘You’re not some damsel in distress. Unless that holster on your ankle is just to hold your purse, you’ve got a way to defend yourself and you’re not out of ammo,’ he said, throwing her a smile that was more a baring of teeth that anything.

Any trace of innocence disappeared from her features as they hardened. Without another word, she bent down to tug the hem of her jeans up and pull the weapon from the holster. She checked it for ammo, shrugging at him before she turned to face the door.

 _Yeah,_ he thought as she prepped the weapon like an expert, _damsel in distress my arse._

‘Who are you running from?’ he asked as he walked the length of the container again, finding a small hole in the side to peer through where the wall had rusted away.

‘Oh, just some friends who like to play cops and robbers,’ she said, peering through the gap in the door.

‘Which are you?’

She glanced to him, a wicked smile curving her lips. ‘I could ask the same of you.’

‘And if I’m a cop.’

'Then you’re a dirty one. A very dirty one, with a suit like that and modified weapons.’ Her gaze trailed down, his skin tingling as if caressed. ‘Oh, but even if you are, that accent of yours sends my knees to jelly, so don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me.’

He quirked a brow at her. ‘People don’t usually enjoy the sound of my accent. They usually have a few comments about leprechauns, rainbows, gold, and wee little clovers. When are you going to start with those?’

‘I’m not,’ she said, her brogue flowing over him. ‘I’m used to being called a leprechaun myself.’

‘You’re Irish?’

She smiled, the look devious. ‘Bumping into you seems to have been rather lucky.’

‘Luck wants nothing to do with us. We bumped into each other whilst being chased by men with guns.’

‘Oh, but it’s all in good fun,’ she said, voice dropping to a whisper as she backed away from the door, ‘especially when they find us in a nice enclosed space like this one.’

She stood beside him at the back of the container, her weapon raised just as his was, a hard look in her eyes that masked the flicker of fear as the door creaked open, two men – the leaders of the different groups – appearing in the opening. As the doors flung wide, it appeared the mob had unified, and they all took aim…

At Don.

The woman stepped to the side, but none of the weapons followed, much to her apparent amusement. It was then that Don realised he recognised the man standing beside Jones.

‘Shit,’ he muttered before plastering that too-bright smile on his lips. ‘Harry, how good to see you.’

‘Oh, Kane, I must admit I’m pleased to see you too,’ Harry said, a brogue as thick as Don’s echoing the container. ‘I thought I’d never get to break your legs like I promised.’

‘Oh, come on, Harry. It’s been years, hasn’t it? Why not put the past behind us, move forward as friends rather than enemies.’

Harry smiled, finger resting menacingly beside the trigger. ‘I don’t forget it when people cheat me, boy, and that’s exactly what you did when you sold me defective weapons back in Ireland. You realise how hard it is to stage a resistance when you can’t actually fight?’

‘They weren’t defective, not really,’ Don said, shrugging. ‘You, however. My, you must have quite a defect if you think it’s a good idea to fire a minigun into a busy street to make a point. I only… _adjusted_ a few bits and pieces before you picked up your shipment to make it more family friendly. It’s not my fault you weren’t gun-savvy enough to put it back together, but I guess if you can’t fix the loose screws in your own head...’

‘You were supposed to be on my side!’

Don flinched when a bullet ricocheted past his feet, his whole body coiled tight as the thunderous echo of the shot filled the container. He became very aware of the heavy pistol in his hands as he looked at Harry, then at Jones. ‘It would seem,’ he said as evenly as he could manage as anger boiled within, ‘that both of you are rather pissed off at me. Let’s focus on that, and let her–’ He threw a thumb absently over his shoulder at the woman– ‘leave.’

Harry chucked, shaking his head. ‘She tried to grab a few guns from my shipment,’ he said, flicking his weapon her way for a moment. ‘I’ll be giving her the punishment she deserves.’

‘I’m sure she’s very sorry about that and won’t ever do it again. Right?’ He quirked an eyebrow at her and she opened her mouth. By the fire in her eyes, he could tell she meant to argue, so he hastily carried on. ‘Right, see. Very sorry,’ he said, cutting her off before she could nail her coffin closed, ‘but I’m not. Not to either of you.’

Both leaders sneered. ‘You’re a shit negotiator, Kane,’ Jones said.

Don shrugged. ‘I’m not going to apologise for what I’ve done. I would tamper with your weapon again, Harry, if it meant preventing the slaughter of innocent people and yes, Jones, if we were to encounter each other in a similar situation and you only payed half of the agreed price, I would still keep half of the weapons.’ He levelled a glare at them. ‘I take my work very seriously, even if it means I don’t get to be friendly with all of my clients.’

‘Not that you’ll have any more clients after today.’ He glanced to the woman, a frightening smile on his lips. ‘And neither will you, Miss Glenanne.’

They cocked their weapons and Don thought harder than he ever had, trying to remember the layout of the containers around them. A shining, white light bulb burst in his mind. He abandoned all thoughts of fighting, knowing it would do him no good with the odds so against him. Instead, he dodged sideways as the first bullet flew, grabbing Ms Glenanne hard around the middle. He covered her body with his own as he threw them at a rusted section of the wall. For a moment he could see only the end of both their lives, the rust seeming to withstand their weight, but with a satisfying creak it fractured they burst through. Red and orange dust exploded around them as the worn wall gave way, but too late. Pain shattered through his nerves, his side searing as the bullet tore at his flesh. Another hit his calf, his leg collapsing at the sheer agony that no amount of adrenaline could truly suppress.

Done pushed her away, clutching his side. ‘Run!’ He growled, knowing they had only seconds before the men tried to follow them through the container’s side. ‘They'll have to be satisfied with me.’

To his surprise, she ducked under his arm to support his weight. A harsh sound escaped his throat as pain seared and stabbed at his wounds. He grit his teeth, growling, ‘what are you doing?’

‘Saving your life.’

They took off, running as fast as he could manage, though one leg was little more than dead weight. He pressed a palm to his side, trying to stem some of the bleeding as they sprinted through the containers. It was a losing battle though, his blood leaving a trail for their pursuers to follow.

‘Can you still shoot?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, his Beretta still in his hand. With difficulty, she reached into her pocket as they ran and pressed a speed dial number, her breath heavy with exertion as she hauled him through the maze of containers.

‘Michael,’ she said, ‘south exit. Now.’

She didn’t wait for an answer, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. Don felt a cold sweat break over his skin, blood still gushing steadily from the wound in his side. With every hurried step, he grew weaker, leaning more and more on Miss Glenanne. ‘Leave me. You can still get out of here alive.’

‘Yes, and you damn well better be alive too,’ she snapped as they reached a tall chain-link fence. They followed it along, Don stumbling over his feet. He thought she’d finally decided to leave him when she pulled free from his burden, but she forced him down, shoving him bodily through a gap cut in the links. She followed him, hoisting his arm around her again, hauling him forward with all her might.

Twin lights flashed in the distance and a smile lit her lips despite the shouts that echoed behind them as Harry’s and Jones’ combined forces reached the fence too. They’d bought the barest sliver of time as the two leaders squabbled briefly over who had first honours, who had the biggest claim to Don’s head.

The light flashed again, closer this time. His blood was rushing so loudly in his ears he hadn’t heard the engine, hadn’t realised the lights even belonged to a car until it came screeching to a halt beside them.

Shots rang out as a few men decided to shoot through the fence as Glenanne wrenched open the back door and shoved Don onto the seat, then clambered in behind him.

‘Who the hell is he?’ someone asked, a man, his voice sharp, but Don took little notice of the worse as he sucked in a ragged breath, attempting to breathe through the throbbing in his side and leg.

‘Just drive!’

The car lurched and Don nearly rolled off the bench seat as they sped backwards, his stomach lurching with it as the vehicle spun 180. Glenanne ducked over him as a bullet ripped through the back window, imbedding in the passenger headrest. Shards rained over him as the engine roared.

* * *

Don knew he must have passed out for a moment. When he opened his eyes the car had slowed and the roar of the engine had softened to a purr. Glenanne had settled into the far seat, his legs resting over her thighs as she tied something around his calf wound.

‘Why is there a man bleeding all over my back seat, Fi?’ that same sharp voice asked, sounding very angry indeed.

‘Because she’s a stupid woman who wouldn’t leave me behind like I told her to,’ Don said, pale blue eyes rolling away from the woman tending to his leg. He stared into the rear view mirror, and a pale gaze glared back at him.

‘That's okay. Glad I could save your life,’ Ms Glenanne – well, he guessed she was called Fi, probably Fiona – said, wrenching a little harder than necessary as she noted the fabric around his calf, ‘I can see you’re very grateful.’

He winched. ‘Believe me, I am. But I’m not worth saving. You should have gotten yourself out.’

‘Too late,’ the voice snapped, ‘and you better live, because you’ll be cleaning that leather.’

Don had to stop himself from laughing, knowing it would be more pain than it was worth. He reached to cover the wound at the front, glad that that bullet had passed straight through, hoping that it had left his insides intact as he forced his mind to kick into action. He couldn’t pass out, no matter how inviting the darkness at the edge of his gaze seemed. ‘I hope we’re close to wherever you’re going,’ he said as his vision wavered, ‘because I’m struggling here.’

Fi shifted, squeezing out from under his legs and settling into the leg-space. She bat his hand away and pressed her own to the wound. ‘Don't worry,’ she said, meeting his gaze, ‘we’ll take care of you.’

He let his eyes wander over her face, smiling even as the blackness continued to drift around his vision, coiling tighter with ever breath. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m glad I got to see such a beautiful woman before I died.’

'You’re not allowed to die. You owe me an explanation for what happened back there.’

‘Oh, that’s easy,’ he said, though the words didn’t come out quite as intended, slurring a little, ‘I run a clean and untraceable business, and I don’t like it when people try to rip me off.’

‘But what about Harry? He talked about sides, about a resistance. You were in the IRA, weren’t you?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Once upon a time. Enjoyed it in the beginning but… gets to you after a while.’

‘I understand,’ she whispered, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her. ‘I like a good explosion, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not afraid of pulling the trigger, but too many innocent people died. I had to get out.’

‘Seems we have more in common that I first thought.'

‘We’ll see about that.’

Fiona Glenanne, in the short time he’d known her, had proven herself to be stubborn, caring, beautiful, tough, wild, and just that little bit dangerous – she was intriguing, to say the least. As Don’s eyes closed and he gave into the darkness creeping over his vision he heard her telling him to stay awake, to stay with her, but all he could think was, _if I live, I'll marry this woman…_

 

**The End**


End file.
